the boys i've loved and the end of the world

twenty-one days: a love story

day one: it's hot outside, simply sweltering, and there is sweat soaking through your shirt, but he has a friendly smile and warm eyes. "honestly, i'm sort of a bitch," you tell him. he nods, looks you over. "yeah, you look like one," he says, "but i don't mind."

day two: at lunch, you tell him you are in love with somebody. "i don't think he's real," he laughs, and when you ask why, he just shrugs. "i just don't think he is." you think you see sadness in his eyes.

day three: you watch how he moves, how his eyes crinkle as he smiles, how he frowns when his hair falls in his face. you remind yourself that you are in love with somebody. there is a jolt of pain in your heart.

day four: there are moments when the light catches his eyes and you feel your heart shake in its cage. "no," you tell yourself that night, "absolutely not."

day five: the stars look pretty tonight, but they are not the only beautiful thing you see. he tells you about a girl that broke him two years ago and you tell him about the boy that has yet to give back all the pieces. "can i say something?" he asks. "of course," you respond. he says, "i'm just really glad i met you." you go to bed smiling, and you hate yourself.

day six: your friend asks you if he loves you and you don't know what to say. "i'm in love with somebody else," you stammer, and they raise their eyebrows. "does he know that?" there is a pause before you respond, "yes, of course he does."

day seven: you are supposed to be in love with somebody, you tell yourself in the shower. there is a ring on your finger that serves as a reminder. in the shower, you cry. nobody can hear you above the sound of the water.

day eight: he reaches over and grabs your hand in the movie theatre. "no," you want to say, but you don't. you don't pull away, and you grip his hand even tighter. "i love him," you say later that night. "i know you do," he whispers, "but maybe you could love me too."

day nine: he wraps his arm around your waist. "you look beautiful," he murmurs to you and you hate yourself, you hate yourself for letting him say it and you hate yourself for loving the sound of his voice in your ear. "i can't do this," you start to cry, but he kisses your forehead. "yes you can," he argues,"you just shouldn't."

day ten: he asks you what you want to do. you look at his eyes, feel his hand burning into yours. "i'll be yours," you say, "butonly for a little bit." he smiles, but it was never the answer he'd hoped for.

day eleven: you tell yourself that you don't love him, simply because you can't. at night, he tries to kiss you. you move so that he only kisses your cheek. "i can't," you say as you pull away. "and it's not just because i shouldn't. it's because i love him. i love him." you repeat it as you go to sleep, hoping you'd wake up and it'd be true again.

day twelve: you let him hold your hand and you try to numb yourself to the electricity shooting through your fingers. when he asks if you're okay, you smile and tell him, "of course." he squeezes your hand tighter, and you feel your throat close. when you run to the bathroom, his friend tells him that he's hurting you. he says, "i know. i know."

day thirteen: today you go out together. he asks you questions and you answer truthfully. he asks, "do you still love him?" you say, "i don't know anymore." then you grab his hand, and he smiles. at dinner he tells you he loves you, and you shake your head. "i know what you're thinking, but it's true." you rest your head on his shoulder and sigh. "i think, i think i love you too."he kisses your fingers, "will you ever know for sure?" you stare at the table, "i don't know, maybe."

day fourteen: he cries today, and you feel panic spreading through you because you know it's your fault. "i'm tired of all the missed opportunities," he whispers, "you're going to forget about me." you grip his hand so tightly you know it hurts him. "i won't forget, even if it doesn't work out," you promise. "but that's the thing," he whimpers, "i don't want this to not work out." you almost kiss him, but you are supposed to be in love somebody else, and they are still lurking, in the back of your mind.

day fifteen: the bathroom tiles are swirling just like the toilet as you flush it again and again. you spend the day at the doctor and when you finally see him that night, he holds you even when you warn him that you're sick. "i was in a bad mood all day," he tells you, "and now i'm not. how strange is that?" you laugh and he tells you he loves you again. "i love you too," you reply, and for a few minutes, you forget.

day sixteen: "why won't you just kiss me?" he grabs your hands and pulls you close to him. "because," you say simply, "i should be in love with him." he runs his fingers through his hair, "but you're not anymore." you shake your head, "it's never that easy."

day seventeen: "i've never met someone like you before," he confesses. he runs his hand up and down your spine and you whisper sweet nothings in his ear. part of you wishes you don't mean it when you tell him you never want to leave, but all of you knows you do.

day eighteen: he is growing more and more upset as you get closer and closer to leaving. you write a poem about him in your journal, and he wants to see it but you tell him he'll see it later. "maybe i'll mail it to you," you joke, but he only looks sadder.

day nineteen: he asks, "we're going to be okay, yeah?" and you kiss his hand. "of course, angel," you say, "we'll be great, even." you say that you love him and he glows.

day twenty: when you kiss him, he freezes. he didn't see it coming. his hands rest delicately on your waist and for a few seconds there is nothing but him. he holds you afterwards and you can feel his smile against your neck. that night, he tells you how much he loves you a thousand times over. your heart cracks, not because you shouldn't love him, but because you do and time is up.

day twenty-one: you kiss him, hard, and cry into his shirt. you try to memorize the way his hands feel in yours, the way his lips feel against your skin. "we'll be okay," he mumbles into your hair, but his voice shakes and he is unsure. you are too. when you drive away, he watches and you start to cry again. "i love him," you sob, "i love him." you repeat it to yourself on the way home. but this time, you are talking about a different person.

-c.h.

~

spot any similarities to 'among the gray'?